


To be Perfidious; to be a Heartbreaker

by Beewachan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, I didn’t cry so this probably isn’t that heavy angst I don’t think, M/M, because I hate Osamu rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beewachan/pseuds/Beewachan
Summary: Osamu calls, and when the phone rings all the way to voicemail, Osamu calls again. He wants to stop by Kenjirou’s apartment and tell him that he loves him more than he loves anything or anyone else in the world, and he’s deeply sorry about what happened, and he’s an absolute fool, and he couldn’t stand to lose the only person who seems to make him happy on this shitty place called Earth.OrThey got into a fight; Osamu is mulling over it.





	To be Perfidious; to be a Heartbreaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crocustongues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocustongues/gifts).



 

Osamu wasn’t conventionally perfidious.

“I don’t love you, anyway.”

He was being deceitful, however.

It’s was a lie that he spoke. A big, fat, overwhelmingly hurtful lie. He doesn’t know why he said it. Hell, when he looks into Kenjirou’s disappointed eyes, he can’t even remember what they were arguing about in the first place.

He expects Kenjirou to say something back, along the lines of “I fucking hate your guts, and I wish we never met,” but he doesn’t. He expects Kenjirou to smack him across the face for lying to him for the duration of their entire relationship, but he doesn’t. He expects Kenjirou to make a dramatic exist, slamming the door of the quiet apartment in Osamu’s face, but, of course, he doesn’t.

He does let tears brim at his eyes, and he does leave, but he doesn’t spew any hurtful words at Osamu, and he doesn’t declare their relationship over, and he doesn’t slam the door in Osamu’s face. He doesn’t because Osamu doesn’t deserve that kind of reaction. Moreover, Osamu isn’t worth that kind of reaction.

He’s such an idiot.

 

 

Yes, he broke his boyfriend’s heart in two, but they’re still boyfriends. Osamu thinks they are, anyway, so he doesn’t hesitate to call Kenjirou at night, like he usually does.

With bated breath, Osamu waits, holding the buzzing device close. It rings, and it rings, but it doesn’t stop to Kenjirou’s voice greeting Osamu. Because Kenjirou doesn’t answer; he doesn’t decline either. Osamu isn’t worth the effort to so much as press the red decline button.

Osamu tríes not to think about it, things go poorly when he overthinks. But things go poorly when he doesn’t think, either, his current predicament being a prime example.

He ends up overthinking.

Kenjirou doesn't hate him, no, he’s just busy. He’s very busy at twelve in the morning, and he can’t pick up when his boyfriend calls — no, he doesn’t have time.

Kenjirou always had time for Osamu. That was because Kenjirou loved Osamu, Osamu assumes. Perhaps, could it be, that he isn’t feeling the same way anymore? It was only one mistake, one slip of the mouth. Osamu is only human, after all.

 _[12:43 AM_  
To: Kenjirou]  
We need to talk.

Osamu waits for a response. In his wait, he’s unable to sleep, restlessly tossing and turning, checking his phone every five minutes or so. There are moment in which he grabs it, thinking that he doesn’t even want to know if Kenjirou has answered or not, but after a short while, he always gives in and taps the green icon.

Each time he’s met with disappointment, he wonders if that’s how Kenjirou felt when Osamu lied to him. Like there’s an empty pit at the bottom of his stomach, and it’s of unignorable size, and it’ll only grow from here on out because it’s irreparable — the damage is too grave, it’s not a hole that can be filled with cement and concealed away.

 

 

It wasn’t like Osamu meant to lie; he just let an untruth come out of his mouth because he was upset. Irrationally upset, yes. Stupid, also yes. Very stupid. He makes another stupid move in a text because he’s feeling paranoid, assuming the worst scenario, hoping Kenjirou isn’t flat out ignoring him.

 _[2:26 AM_  
To: Kenjirou]  
Please tell me that you’re okay.

By three o’clock, Osamu has convinced himself that Kenjirou has been subject to a terrible accident, that Kenjirou is being hospitalized for trauma, that Kenjirou has come down with food poisoning, that Kenjirou can’t answer his phone. He _can’t_ , and he’s not just ignoring Osamu. He’d never do that to him.

Osamu calls, and when the phone rings all the way to voicemail, Osamu calls again. He wants to stop by Kenjirou’s apartment and tell him that he loves him more than he loves anything or anyone else in the world, and he’s deeply sorry about what happened, and he’s an absolute fool, and he couldn’t stand to lose the only person who seems to make him happy on this shitty place called Earth.

Osamu makes no move from his bed. He reevaluates the situation, decides that even if Kenjirou is in his apartment, even if Kenjirou is ignoring him, even if Kenjirou is safe and sound, he doesn’t want to see Osamu. If he did, he’d have answered Osamu’s texts, at least looked at them, so Osamu stays stationary.

Okay, he isn’t entirely stationary. His mins is running at a million miles per second because he can’t stop thinking about Kenjirou, and he can’t stop thinking about what he should have done and what he could have done and what he would have done if he knew that he’d be pathetically lying in bed mulling over his entire relationship with Shirabu Kenjirou at three forty seven in the goddamned morning.

After much thought, Osamu makes the decision to shut his phone off. It’s for the best, mental health-wise. He isn’t exactly sure about that last statement being true, but maybe it’ll help; there’s no harm in trying, right? He takes a deep breath and presses the button on the side of his phone until the screen fades black.

He doesn’t have any clock in his room, so naturally, Osamu’s loses track of time, and he doesn’t know when the downpour started, but when he touches his eyes, only to rub their vision clear, his fingers are wet.

It’s because his boyfriend doesn’t love him anymore, he tells himself. Why would he? What reason does he have? Osamu is plain and boring, and he had said something so out of the question, so bizarrely hurtful, just because they were having a meaningless, insignificant fight.

It was significant now because Osamu fucked up, and he fucked up _badly_.

He can feel his tears flow down his cheek, cascade across his neck, drop onto his chest, and he wants nothing more than to make them stop. He wants it all to stop. Stop, stop, stop, _please stop_. He begs his tears to bring themselves to conclusion, but they refuse to listen to him. They give him the slap across the face that Kenjirou wouldn’t, and what an ugly stain it is that they leave.

He’s breathing, if it can even be called that, heavy. He’s struggling to retain the oxygen from each breath. It’s hard, it’s far too hard, and he wishes it weren’t, but it is, it’s exceedingly hard.

He hates the sound of his own breathing in pauses, his own hiccups, his own crying, struggling, hyperventilating.

But he deserves it. He deserves it very much so because he hurt Kenjirou, and he spoke rashly, and he made a decision that he’d lament for much longer than is healthy to do so because he fucking deserves to be crying until he’s flushed out his entire system and utterly dehydrated, to have his head spinning in circles and circles trying to figure out how he can mend a terribly regrettable situation, to be so short of breath that he feels like he’s going to suffocate and have his life ceased right then and there.

It takes time, two or so hours, for Osamu’s eyes to dry, for him to be able to breathe easy despite the heavy-heartedness lingering in his chest.

The sun has yet to rise, but Osamu hasn’t been able to even shut his eyes without thoughts of Kenjirou flooding his mind, forcing him awake.

Unable to quell his curiosity, he turns on his phone, desperate for a response from Kenjirou, some sort of contact, even if it’s only for a second, even if it’s only Kenjirou calling things off.

_**Read 5:28 AM** _

It’s six o’ three.

At least now he knows Kenjirou is alive and breathing. He presses the dreaded call button on his phone, in one last desperate attempt at communication before he tries to rest.

No, Osamu doesn’t expect Kenjirou to answer; in fact, he even thinks part of him doesn’t want Kenjirou to answer. He’s not sure if he knows what to say that could add any value to their relationship, that could restore it.

He knows he’s being pusillanimous when he sighs a sigh of relief after he hears the voicemail message sound. Though this time, unlike the others, he leaves a message at the tone.

“I’m so _sorry_ ,” his voice cracks, and he sends the message off.

It isn’t lengthy because he knows Kenjirou wouldn’t care for an extensive apology; he probably doesn’t care for one at all, to be quite frank. He’s probably already made up his mind about Osamu, and whatever the verdict is, Osamu doesn’t want to know yet.

He just wants to sleep, to stop thinking. It’s tiresome, and it _hurts_. It hurts because he lied to Kenjirou, and Kenjirou’s heart isn’t the only one that’s broken, but Osamu doesn’t want to stew on it.

His eyes close.

He doesn’t stew on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
